


Shipping, or: Five Times Steve Took Care of Bucky

by superstringtheory



Series: Thawing [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky is really into shipping, Bucky's television preferences, Caretaking, Common Cold, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mother Hen Steve Rogers, Pneumonia, Shower Sex, Sick Bucky Barnes, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve doesn't get shipping, Steve epically fails at shipping, Trinity the three-legged therapy cat, netflix and fever chills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky didn’t feel well post-thaw and Steve mother henned him. Also, Bucky is very into shipping characters and Steve really, really doesn’t get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shipping, or: Five Times Steve Took Care of Bucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greyskygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskygirl/gifts).



> Basically just shameless Bucky whumpage, with a side of “intense headcanon about Bucky’s television watching preferences”. Mild spoilers for New Girl, Buffy, and The X-Files.
> 
> Also: find me on tumblr at superstringtheory. I am always around to talk Bucky feels or other television-related shipping feels (since Bucky shares many of my own inclinations).

**1: Sore**

 

It starts with a catch in his throat and a hint of an ache where Hydra’s arm used to be. Bucky shakes it off, pours extra water down his throat, and tries really really hard not to collapse into the whining mess he sadly wants to be. 

Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes didn't whine when his lungs were collapsing of pneumonia. The Winter Soldier didn't when Hydra fried his brain. So who's Bucky to say something about a  _ slightly _ scratchy throat and some phantom limb pain?

~~~~~

By lunchtime, it’s a bit more than a scratchy throat. Bucky’s head throbs with every step he takes, and his normally voracious appetite seems to have withered away to a singular desire for something cool to drink. He feels overheated and sweaty and sore, even though all he’d done was some simple patrol duties with Natasha. 

It doesn’t take long for his friends to notice that he’s not piling his plate high as usual and is just sitting at the table, chin in hand. 

“You doin’ all right there, big guy?” Sam asks, as Nat slides into the seat next to Bucky. Her hands are blessedly cool against his neck and face. 

“You’ve got a fever there, champ.” She rubs his back in comforting circles and makes eye contact with Sam. “Could you go and get him some water? And you-know-who?” 

“I know who you’re talking about,” Bucky mumbles, and Sam laughs. 

“Be right back.” 

~~~~~

It must be only five minutes or less, but the time drags by. Nat wheedles Bucky to try and eat something, but he just shakes his head miserably. 

“Throat hurts,” he tells her, and she makes a sympathetic face and calls him “poor baby” in Russian, for which Bucky halfheartedly punches her on the arm. 

He gulps the water when Sam brings it, wincing in a very non-super soldier way. 

“Don't worry,” Natasha says soothingly. “Steve’ll be here soon.”

“S’what I'm afraid of,” Bucky says to the table, not looking up when he hears Sam’s voice announcing the arrival of the one, the only-- Steve Rogers. 

~~~~~

Steve is a flurry of questions and hands and exclamations.  What are his symptoms? How long has he been feeling sick? Why didn’t he say anything? Etc etc etc. 

“M’fine,” Bucky tries telling him, but it sounds pathetic even to himself. 

“He’s feverish,” Nat says. “Probably a hundred and two, hundred and three.” Bucky kicks her under the table but she dodges it. Freakin’ assassins, too dextrous by half. 

“And he doesn’t want to eat. You know he’s gotta be sick.” Sam adds in, unhelpfully. 

“I could eat a  _ bird _ ,” Bucky growls, but his voice gives out and he starts coughing. 

“C’mon, honey.” Steve presses a kiss to his forehead and Bucky could just  _ die _ . It’s not enough that he has to be one-armed and technologically inept and sometimes freaking out from PTSD, he’s also got to have a boyfriend who will actually, literally smother him with concern when he’s sick. 

“Nghhhh.” Bucky allows himself to be strong-armed out of the cafeteria but draws the line at letting Steve hold his hand in public. He only has one of them, y’know, and he kinda needs it to give the finger.

~~~~~

Back in his room, Trinity prances around Steve's feet and tries to trip him (a trick Bucky wishes he could take credit for, but it appears to be an innate ability) while Steve rushes around gathering medicine and the thermometer and blankets. He makes Bucky sit on the bed and strokes his hair while he's waiting for the thermometer to beep. 

“103.6,” Steve reads off, forehead creasing. “You're really sick, honey.” 

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise and slumps back against the blankets Steve has helpfully provided. 

“No sleep yet,” Steve tells him, “I want you to take your meds and eat a little something. You think you can do that for me?” His voice gets lower, conspiratorial, and a little smirk tugs up his mouth. “You can usually do that for me.” 

Bucky grunts. “Not hungry, Steve.” Saying just that much makes him hold his throat with his stupid one hand and dissolve further into the blanket pile; ready to be part of a solution (not a problem). 

“C’mon, I’ll get something you like. And you know you’re not supposed to take your anxiety meds on an empty stomach.” Steve’s voice remains calm, even though Bucky can tell that Steve’s like a Hitachi on low right now, waiting and wanting to vibrate into action. Bucky’s too tired and sore for all of this action, and he drapes his arm over his eyes. 

“Whatever. I’ll eat it if you just come back and lay down with me.” He shifts his arm slightly to squint at Steve, who looks like he might shed a little (manly! Of course! This is the Captain of Freakin’  _ America _ !) tear. 

“I’ll be right back, Buck. Right back.” 

~~~~~

True to his word, Bucky swallows his usual pills along with fever reducers and manages spoonfuls of soup (something called “sopa shorba”- tomato and chicken broth with chickpeas and lentils, with sour cream stirred in) and a few slurps of a milkshake (which Steve had procured from god knows where). He pushes the milkshake away when Steve proffers it again and Steve sets it back down on the nightstand. Bucky shivers and clears his throat painfully, giving Steve a significant look. 

“What? What is it? Oh, okay. You’re ready to cuddle, I see how it is.” Steve leans down and undoes the laces of his combat boots and then toes them off while Bucky gets completely under the covers. 

Bucky falls asleep with Steve’s fingers carding through his hair and the soft, warm weight of the cat pressed up against his feet, Steve’s helicopter-wrangling arm wrapped around him. 

~~~~~

It’s three days before Bucky feels himself again. The detritus of his illness is strewn around his room- a small pile of science fiction paperbacks on the side table, most with dogeared pages (for which Nat calls him “barbaric”), crumpled-up tissues on the floor (for which Sam calls him “gross,” and Bucky explains that they were for the cat to chase, obviously), and a half-empty bottle of orange goop that Bucky is cheerily taking a swig out of. 

“You look much improved,” Steve tells him, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “And you taste like orange cough syrup.” He makes a face as he sits next to Bucky on the bed. 

“I feel a hundred percent,” Bucky claims, though his voice is still somewhat rough around the edges. 

“Uh-huh.” Steve looks skeptical.

“Okay, eighty-five. Maybe eighty. But a lot better.” Bucky tugs Steve closer. “Better enough for  _ this _ , even.” He kisses Steve, softly at first but then with increasing intensity. 

“Good thing I closed the door, then,” Steve says when they take a quick breather, Bucky shimmying out of his sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “Good thing.” 

~~~~~

 

 

**2: Walk**

 

Bucky had weathered many Brooklyn winters along with Steve, had breathed Steve’s sickroom air for what seemed like months at a time and never been ill. Now, apparently, the mere fact that someone had sneezed in a room once was enough to give Bucky the sniffles. 

“It's a little more than the sniffles,” Steve reminds Bucky, patting him on the leg. 

“Not much.” Bucky shivers. 

Steve glowers in a good hearted way. “It's pneumonia, in  _ both _ lungs, and you can barely get out of bed.”

“It's  _ walking  _ pneumonia, you ass. I can  _ walk _ ,” Bucky retorts. 

“Barely,” Steve allows. “From the couch to the bathroom, maybe.” 

“Trinity,” Bucky croons to the cat, only coughing a little. “Kill him for me, would you?” The cat pricks her ears up at the sound of her name, but doesn’t turn her head. “Little bitch.” Bucky starts to actually cough, then, and does until he’s exhausted, Steve rubbing his back all the while. 

Steve offers him a glass of room temperature water after it seems like the fit has passed, and Bucky sips it slowly through a straw. 

“Sucks,” he manages finally, and lets his head drop to Steve’s shoulder. “Next episode?” He turns his head to cough lightly into Steve’s shirt, and Steve (bless him) doesn’t even seem grossed out. 

“Sure.” Steve gently leans forward, careful not to dislodge his boyfriend, and deftly hits the spacebar on his laptop. 

~~~~~

“Oh my god,  _ finally _ ,” Bucky is saying a few hours later, loudly, and Steve starts awake. Onscreen, a girl with pinup style bangs and dressed in a bathrobe is seriously making out with a dude in a t-shirt. 

“ _ Finally _ ,” Bucky repeats, noticing that Steve’s awake, and punches him happily on the arm. 

“What?” Steve rumples his hair with his hand, then smooths Bucky’s own hair back from his forehead, surreptitiously feeling his temperature along the way. He frowns slightly and reaches for the bottle of ibuprofen sitting next to the laptop on the coffee table. He shakes several out and drops them in Bucky’s palm. 

“Nick and Jess kissed!” Bucky exclaims after swallowing his pills, his exuberance causing him to cough. 

“I… uh… yeah? They kissed? Okay?” Steve’s truly confused about why this is exciting. 

“C’mon, man, it’s been coming for like  _ two seasons _ now,” Bucky says. He eyes Steve critically. “Did you not notice?” 

“Uh,” Steve says. 

“Jesus,” Bucky rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “My boyfriend doesn’t get  _ shipping _ .” 

~~~~~

It becomes evident, over the next week or so, as Bucky is recovering and more episodes of television are consumed than are really healthy for anyone not-sick, that Steve really, truly, does not get it. 

“It’s really ironic,” Sam points out around a spoonful of chocolate ice cream. “Seeing as you two were one of the, like, original shipping couples. Oh yeah, you better believe it,” he continues, jabbing his spoon at Bucky, who swallows his own ice cream guiltily. “People always thought some of the Howling Commandos might’ve howled for… other reasons.” 

“ _ Sexual _ reasons,” Nat clarifies from her perch on the back of the couch. “Lots of people thought that you and Steve were doing it during the war.” 

“Um.” Bucky blushes bright red and forces a little bit of coughing. “Um.” 

“Anyway,” Sam continues, “Do you know what he told me the other day?” He pauses for effect, and to lick a little bit of melting ice cream. “He said,  _ and I quote _ , ‘I really ship Picard and Riker.’” 

Everyone stops to digest this factoid for a moment, then, “Jesus,” Nat spits, “That’s even worse than when he told me that Hagrid and Dudley really bonded over the pig tail spell and that it was the start of their ‘ship.’” 

“We have to get him to stop,” Sam says, looking disgusted. 

“Ugh, okay, I’ll work on it. Next episode?” Bucky sets his ice cream bowl down and nudges Sam to get the next episode started. Jess and Nick are  _ actually together now and it is BEAUTIFUL _ . 

(Until they aren’t any more, and everything is terrible and hurts and Bucky and Steve are in bed with the laptop on their legs and Steve is forcing Bucky to lie with only the sheet on him even though he’s  _ freezing _ and Steve gets to have covers and it’s not fair and Jess and Nick aren’t speaking and he can’t stop coughing and they have to keep pausing and Bucky wants to  _ die _ .) 

“I don’t get it,” Steve is saying later. “I thought those two were, like, a thing? A ship?” 

Bucky growls at him grumpily and tries to pull the blanket over again. Steve stops him deftly and plants a kiss on his too-hot cheek. 

“Little bit of cabin fever, sweetheart?” 

“Ugh.” Bucky scowls at the paused Netflix screen. “Just some stupid actual fever”-- he shivers a bit-- “and  _ someone won’t give me my blanket _ .” 

Steve sighs. “Let’s just watch the next episode, okay, honey?” 

~~~~~

Bucky wakes up again later, drenched in sweat but feeling a lot better. The cat is curled up at his feet and makes a sleepy noise when he carefully extricates himself from the damp sheets. 

“Morning,” Steve says from the couch, where he’s drinking a cup of coffee and squinting at his phone screen. He takes in Bucky’s rumpled and sweaty appearance. “C’mere, love.” 

Bucky slumps against Steve’s chest (why are his pecs so perfect this early in the morning? Seriously), mumbles an apology into his shirt. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve pats his back through his sweaty t-shirt. “Think your fever broke.” 

“Yeah, and thank god or Thor or whatever,” Bucky says, and allows himself to be hugged by Steve for a little bit longer before getting up, stretching, and announcing his need for a hot shower. 

“Mind if I join?” Steve waggles an eyebrow, and Bucky reaches out his remaining arm, pulls Steve up from the couch and into a kiss. 

“One more mention of shipping, though”-- Bucky gives Steve a serious look-- “and I will dump your perfect glutes, Rogers.” 

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Steve gives him the biggest, fakest wink Bucky’s ever seen, and it makes Bucky-- still kitten-weak from illness and not remembering the last time he washed his hair-- want to jump his bones right there. 

(It’s okay. The huge shower has a built-in tiled seat-- God knows why, though not likely for this particular reason, but maybe; God has always struck Bucky as a pretty bisexual concept-- and Steve makes Bucky sit to shower and he lavishly lathers Bucky’s long hair for him, massaging his scalp and then running the washcloth reverently all over Bucky’s body-- paying attention to his feet, his calves, his thick thighs, his little gut and the dimple of his bellybutton, his back, his pecs, and gently over his bad shoulder until Bucky is panting. It’s not just because of the steam or his pneumonia-diminished lung capacity, either. Steve ghosts his lips over Bucky’s and makes Bucky wait until Steve has rinsed him off with the hand-held shower attachment before Steve kneels on the shower floor and kisses up Bucky’s leg, sneaking little glances up at Bucky’s face every so often, and it’s one of the hottest things Bucky has ever experienced. Steve takes Bucky into his mouth and moans around Bucky’s cock. When Bucky comes, he sees stars. God bless (Captain) America.) 

~~~~~

 

 

**3: Over**

 

Bucky’s used to the feeling of fullness, of over-fullness, even. He likes to eat, Steve likes to watch him eat, and he’s got the gut to prove it. 

Perhaps the huge order of spicy curry followed by a pint of ice cream had been overzealous, though, especially after his recent sore throat and subsequent pneumonia had sapped his appetite and he’d been eating much smaller portions. 

Steve’s already asleep next to him, snoring lightly, spooned up against Bucky’s back, his breath hot on Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky’s stomach lets out a sickly gurgle, and he shifts uncomfortably to his back, trying not to disturb Steve. He rubs his belly a bit, but it’s just not as good with only one hand, and Steve does it so much better. He manages a quiet burp but it doesn’t make him feel any better, and he just wants Steve’s hands on him, massaging him and giving healing kisses. 

He hiccups, then, miserably, and Steve startles awake. 

“Buck?” Steve sits up and rubs his eyes. “You’re still awake?” 

Bucky nods, and hiccups again, discomfort on his face. “Dinner didn’t agree with me.” 

“Oh, baby.” Steve’s brow furrows in concern. “You need to tell me when you’re hurting so I can help.” 

Bucky sighs. “Didn’t want to be a bother.” 

“ _ Honey _ .” Steve sighs himself, disentangling his long legs from the bedsheets and swinging them out of bed. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky lifts his hand in agreement and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t deserve Steve, not now, not ever. 

~~~~~

Steve returns with a glass of ginger ale and a familiar pink bottle. He supervises Bucky’s dosage and kisses his cheek. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, honey,” he says seriously. “Next time I’ll be paying more attention so you don’t end up like this.” 

Bucky sits up carefully, slowly sips ginger ale, shrugs. “S’okay, I wanted it.” And he had, and normally he ate much more than that and was fine, both him and Steve enjoying it. Tonight, however, he’d been distracted by the conversation at the table and the mutual game of Settlers of Catan (played in teams- Steve and Bucky, Nat and T’Challa, Sam and Scott) that he’d eaten much more than he intended to and had neglected to pace himself. 

Luckily, once Bucky feels ready, Steve expertly rubs the ache away from Bucky’s gut, helps him work out some deep, low belches that make him feel much better. 

They lie there for a while, Bucky resting up against Steve’s chest, Steve continuing to rub soothing circles into Bucky’s belly. 

“You know, I ship us,” Steve murmurs quietly, and stops rubbing. 

“Aww,” Bucky says, then winces when Steve rubs over a tender spot. 

“Just like I ship Hermione and Dobby,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s hair, and Bucky grimaces. Steve is completely and totally serious, and well-meaning, and sweet, and pretty much the best boyfriend a guy could ask for, but just-- no. 

“She really advocated for him, y’know?” Steve is continuing, and Bucky is silent in horror. “And she took care of him, kind of like you used to do for me?” 

Bucky hiccups then, and groans, and Steve stops talking. “You okay, hon?” 

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Not really. Kinda need you to be quiet for a while, sorry.” 

“Aw, Buck, I’m sorry.” Steve hugs him closer, kisses his hair again. 

Bucky relaxes back into Steve’s arms, closes his eyes. Tries valiantly to put the Hermione/Dobby images out of his head. (Fails.) Steve is so goddamn lucky Bucky’s already in for a penny and a pound (or two or three or twenty), because  _ Jesus _ , Hermione and Dobby. 

~~~~~

 

**4: Cold**

 

“Man, your immune system’s really shit.” Sam’s laughing at him. 

Bucky sniffs and glares at Sam. “Is dot.” 

“Man,” Sam laughs, “I can’t even with you right now.” 

“Fug you,” Bucky spits. 

“Winter Soldier with a cold,” Sam wheezes, still laughing, “C’mon, Buck, can you talk a little more, maybe throw in a few more consonant-heavy words?” 

Bucky just gives him the finger. 

~~~~~

Back in Steve’s room, where Bucky had spent the night, Steve is going through the usual rigamarole of checking the etymology of Bucky’s symptoms. 

Steve’s giant palm pressed up against his forehead, Steve nudging his lips with the familiar plastic wand. 

“Dod’t hab a feber, Steeb.” 

“We’ll see, Buck, I think you feel a little warm.” 

Bucky shrugs. The thermometer beeps, and Steve plucks it out of his mouth with a too-practiced motion. 

“100.7. Congrats, pal. You’re in the triple digits.” 

Bucky waves his tired hand at him. “Barely.” Thank god, finally, a word he can say without fugging it all up. 

“What else? Congestion?” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow-- obviously-- and sighs. “Coggested. Achy. Tired. Ugh.” He stops to sneeze, and Steve hands him a tissue. 

“Bless you.” 

“I deed id. Thig I’b cursed.” 

~~~~~

Bucky’s not cursed, the doctor explains. The freezing and re-freezing, over and over, and then the sudden entry into a tropical clime… it’s not been the best for an immune system already on overdrive with exposure to new and mutated germs. 

The doctor hands him a whole box of tissues and some name brand cold medicine. Bucky looks at it with disdain. 

“Welcome to the 21st century,” the doctor says wryly.

“Ugh,” says Bucky. 

“At least it’s a fancy tissue box?” Steve always looks on the bright side. Bucky is normally duly charmed by this charming little trait, but today he finds it irritating and wants to tell Steve exactly where he could shove the tissue box. Unfortunately, Steve (damn him) would likely do it with a smile on his face, if he thought it’d make Bucky happy. 

There really is no winning, when dating an irrepressible optimist. 

~~~~~

This current illness, despite its mildness, is possibly more annoying than the more serious illnesses Bucky has recently weathered. 

First, there’s the fact that he can’t really taste or smell anything, which makes eating (one of his favorite 21st century pastimes) basically useless, and his ears feel all stuffy, which makes listening to music somewhat of a chore, and he has to blow his nose all the time, which makes having sex with Steve (the other preferred 21st century activity) more annoying than anything else. Dripping fluids from anywhere but your cock is really not all that sexy. 

Instead, he parks himself on the couch with the cat and spends several days sardonically watching television with Nat, who shares his unbridled enthusiasm for shipping and who (unlike Steve) actually gets it. Together, Nat and Bucky witness the rise and fall and rise of Angel and Buffy and Buffy and Spike.

Bucky develops a huge crush on Angel from the start but in the end is rooting for Spike to get the girl (but really, for the girl to win, just on her own-- Buffy reminds him of Nat in all of the best ways). Nat is more of an Angel/Buffy shipper, but appreciates Spike’s combat skills and sarcasm. 

Steve, who catches a few episodes during the binge, is hilariously somewhat hurt that Bucky’s crush isn’t on the blonde. (He also claims to “ship” Buffy and Giles, and for this offense Nat and Bucky banish him to Sam’s room for the remainder of the marathon.) 

By the time their television “binge” is over (Bucky learns this term from Nat, and enjoys using it to annoy Steve, who seems to think that television should be watched only 30 minutes at a time and only on specific weeknights), Bucky and Nat are both holding tissues to their streaming eyes and spilling popcorn on the floor. Steve comes into the room during this final episode, looks at Bucky and Nat, pauses for a moment, and then turns right back around and doesn’t come back until Bucky’s already in bed and almost asleep. 

“Buck, you still awake?” Steve asks as he slides into bed next to Bucky, pressing up against his back and putting his arms around him. 

“Buffy saved the world,” Bucky mumbles sleepily and congestedly. 

“Mm,” Steve replies, kissing Bucky’s neck. “You feeling better?” 

Bucky yawns without opening his eyes and sinks further into the pillow and Steve’s embrace. “Yup.” 

Steve mostly believes him, too, and is fully convinced when Bucky gluts himself on traditional Wakandan food at dinner, mopping his still somewhat runny nose with an old-fashioned white hankie. 

~~~~~

 

 

**5: Recovery**

 

Bucky doesn’t even make it a full two weeks of health before his throat starts to feel sore again. He manages a day of denial, of quasi-convincing himself that he’s just tired, that he just needs to drink more water, that he just really likes hot tea (in Africa, in summer), that that little rough quality to his voice has always been there. 

The next morning, however, even he can’t deny it any more-- he tries to say good morning to Steve when he wakes up, but it comes out a croak and oh,  _ Jesus _ does it hurt. 

“Buck?” Steve sits up in bed, already on red alert. (If this were really  _ Star Trek _ , Bucky would’ve been a red shirt, no doubt.) 

Bucky hisses out a breath, carefully palpating his throat. His glands feel swollen, too-- awesome. 

“It’s your throat again, huh, champ?” 

Normally Bucky hates it when Steve calls him champ, but he’s feeling too awful to do anything about it and just nods miserably. 

“Oh, Buck.” Steve fishes around on the nightstand for a hair tie and uses one to pull Bucky’s hair away from his face and into a little tucked-under ponytail. He kisses Bucky’s hairline and Bucky can’t stop himself from leaning into it. 

“I’m taking you to the doctor again today,” Steve tells him as he’s getting out of bed and keeping up a running commentary as he’s pulling on his clothes and handing Bucky the one-armed Trump sweatshirt (still ironic, still terrible, and now a little tighter than it had been previously), “This just seems like too many sore throats in such a short time.” He helps Bucky pull the sweatshirt over his head, kisses his forehead again. 

“Immune system just sucks,” Bucky croaks. “Behind the times.” He tries to clear his throat and gives up because it hurts too much. “Needs an upgrade.” He swallows uncomfortably, trying not to think about (longing rusted seventeen) the chair and going back to factory settings. 

~~~~~

The doctor tsks when she sees him again, and Bucky throws her a half-assed, sardonic salute on their way back out, feeling childish and petulant and sick. And they want to take his tonsils out like he’s a goddamn five-year-old, so he feels entitled. 

The surgery is scheduled for a week hence, and T’Challa reassures Steve that his doctors are some of the best in the world and not to worry. 

Steve worries anyway. 

~~~~~

The surgery, itself, is painless and quick. The recovery… not so much. The doctor had warned Bucky (and mostly Steve, who was the one actually listening to the spiel) that adult tonsillectomies were a lot harder to bounce back from, that the pain was  _ severe _ , yada yada. Bucky thinks that he can handle it. Even minus an arm, he’s still a super soldier, right? 

It’s not a spoiler alert that he’s not ready for it. Luckily, Steve has planned for every contingency, has amassed a veritable army (by which Bucky means enough for an actual battalion) of prescription painkillers, ibuprofen, ice chips, and Bucky’s favorite purple Gatorade. And thank fuck for Netflix (although not for “are you still watching?” because fuck that, of course he’s still watching, who would stop in the middle of this and  _ when _ are Mulder and Scully going to get it on?). 

The first few days are a blur of pain and dozing off and waking up to Steve feeding him ice chips and the most careful sips of Gatorade ever through a straw held to his lips. 

The next phase is memorable because Bucky has never been in pain like this that he can remember, in this life. He’s too uncomfortable even for palpable sexual tension and aliens and Steve leaves him for a few hours to meet with T’Challa and comes back to Bucky white-faced on the couch, clutching a tepid ice pack to his neck. 

Steve’s too nice to berate Bucky right away for his self-care failures, and instead moves quickly to crush pain medication and stir it into Gatorade and feed it to Bucky. He then sits with him quietly while Bucky dozes with his head in Steve’s lap, and waits to say anything until Bucky starts to feel vaguely human again. 

“Still think it’s a good idea to skip some pain meds?” Steve asks mildly, scrolling through something on his BlackBerry. Steve is like, the last person on earth to be proud of a recent acquisition of a BlackBerry. 

Bucky grunts in response and closes his eyes again. “How long was I out?” 

“Couple of hours.” Steve sets his phone down and stretches. “Long enough that Netflix went to sleep.” 

“Fuck,” Bucky says raspily. He sits up carefully, and leans his head against the back of the couch. 

He doesn’t skip the pain meds again.

~~~~~

The final few days of recovery are better and worse, in various ways. Better because Bucky finally feels well enough to do more than doze on the couch in a haze of pain and worse because now he can actually pay attention to television again and now he’s in real emotional angst about how long it’s taking Mulder and Scully to get together. 

Better, because Bucky can have visitors. Worse, because Sam brings him a picture book entitled  _ Good-Bye Tonsils! _ with a picture of a smiling little girl holding a cake and a teddy bear on the front. 

“I’m just saying it’s unrealistic,” Bucky explains. “There’s no way she’s eating cake. And no fuckin’ way she’s smiling.” He winces himself, and sips more Gatorade. 

“Glad to see you’re back and at ‘em,” Nat remarks, plucking another truffle from the box of fancy chocolates she’d brought (and which Bucky also could not eat-- a fact which Nat  _ definitely knew _ ). 

“Me too,” Bucky coughs, very very carefully, and it still hurts like the dickens. “I’m starting to hate this room. And this couch.” 

“What about Netflix? You starting to hate that, too?” Sam pokes Bucky in the arm. 

“Christ, no, it’s pretty much my only reason to live right now.” 

Nat rolls her eyes. 

“And how’s Steve been?” Sam asks, in a certain kind of tone that implies that he knows  _ exactly _ how Steve’s been. 

Bucky hedges. “Well…” 

“It’s okay,” Nat breaks in. “We all know he’s basically creaming his pants over getting to take care of you.” She unwraps another truffle and pops it into her mouth. “These are really good, by the way.” She gestures to the box, and Bucky flips her the bird. 

~~~~~

By that night, Bucky’s restless and desperate to do something,  _ anything _ other than sit on the couch for one more second. 

“My ass is actually getting flat,” he tells Steve. “Like a pancake.” 

“Psh. Stand up, baby.” Steve inspects Bucky from all angles, paying special attention to his butt and legs in plaid pajama pants. “Not that I can tell.” He pulls Bucky into a hug, hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “Sure am glad you’re feeling better, sweetheart.” 

Bucky scowls at the endearment, but relaxes into the embrace. 

“Feel better enough to leave this room,” he says pointedly. 

“Shh, shh,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s neck. “Don’t want you to overexert yourself.” 

“’M not a child,” Bucky says, which he realizes as soon as it leaves his mouth is probably the worst thing he could possibly say if he wants to strengthen his case. 

“I know,” Steve says, and Bucky can feel his smile against his neck, and the tickle of his stubble as Steve puts his lips next to Bucky’s ear, “But I bet you’re better enough to let me make you feel good.” He breathes against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky shivers. 

“I’ll take that bet.” 

~~~~~


End file.
